Too much in how it's Armand, in how he hasn't felt another man like this in so fucking long, not enough in that he wants to feel him everywhere, there's not enough time, not enough hands. Daniel strokes him, reveling in the feel of how slick and soft he is in his hand, lets Armand's grip guide him and follows his tempo.

Another kiss, like he's desperate for it. He is. The feel of his mouth, the taste of it, of everything there. They feel so tangled despite doing nothing but this, clawing and rubbing like teenagers. Gripping each other's hands, panting, sweating, wrapped up on his stupid bed in his stupid basement.

"How do you want to come?" grated out so close to him, mouth to the corner of his.